September 15, 1988, 12:00 PM.
Akasaka, Tokyo. Ryotei 'Kouetsu'.
The torrential rain that had scoured Tokyo clean last night had stopped, but the air still carried the damp smell of wet earth.
This ryotei, tucked away in the heart of the city, was as silent as an island. Deep in the courtyard, a bamboo shishi-odoshi that had been striking stone for decades filled with water and struck the mossy basin with a dull thud.
That crisp sound was jarringly loud in the deathly quiet of the private room.
Inside the most secluded suite, Matsu-no-Ma — the Pine Room — the air was so heavy it felt like it could condense into droplets.
Saionji Shuichi sat in seiza at the head of the low table. A flask of warmed sake sat before him, untouched. Across from him sat the man who controlled half of Japan's political world: Kanemaru Shin, Secretary-General of the Liberal Democratic Party.
And at Kanemaru's right hand sat the sharp-eyed Ozawa Ichiro.
There was no exchange of toasts, no pleasantries. No one was pretending this was a social call.
Shuichi turned slightly and gestured to Endo, who had been waiting outside.
The sliding paper door opened without a sound.
Endo and two trusted bodyguards entered, carrying three heavy silver metal briefcases. Rainwater still clung to the cases, reflecting cold light under the dim lamps.
Thud.
The cases hit the tatami. The sound was muffled, final.
Kanemaru's eyelid twitched. He held an unlit cigar, but he didn't light it. He just stared at the seals on the briefcases.
The seals read 'Apex Group · Top Secret' and bore President Ezaki's personal seal.
"Mr. Kanemaru."
Shuichi's voice was steady.
"The rain was very heavy last night. If certain things aren't put away in time, I'm afraid they'll rot in the ground."
He reached out and patted the briefcases lightly.
"To prevent these things from soiling the floors of Nagatacho, the Saionji Family took the liberty of doing some spring cleaning for everyone."
Kanemaru said nothing. He jerked his chin at Ozawa.
Ozawa understood. He leaned forward and opened one briefcase.
Click.
The lid flipped open.
Inside, documents were packed to capacity, stacked with meticulous care.
Black handwritten ledgers. Stacks of yellowing bank transfer slips. Piles of 'Stock Transfer Confirmation' forms clipped together — each one bearing a name that would make headlines.
Kanemaru reached out with thick, stubby fingers and pulled one at random.
It was a receipt.
Fifty million yen. Purpose listed vaguely as "Consulting Fees." But in the signature block at the bottom right was the name of a core lieutenant in his own faction.
Kanemaru's hand trembled, almost imperceptibly.
He put the cigar between his teeth but didn't light it. He just chewed the tip hard, as if grinding the tobacco to paste.
If these documents leaked — if they somehow fell into the hands of the Special Investigation Department prosecutors — the Takeshita Faction, no, Keiseikai itself, and even the mainstream factions of the LDP, would be finished by morning.
This was a nuclear bomb with enough yield to level the entire Japanese political world.
"The originals?"
Kanemaru lifted his eyes. The murkiness was gone. A sharp glint shot from them straight at Shuichi.
"All of them."
Shuichi met the gaze of the old titan without flinching. A humble smile even touched his lips.
"The 'unwise' employees at Apex have already been cleared out by me. The carbon copies, the printer ribbons, even the memories in the CFO's head — all taken care of."
Shuichi picked up the sake flask, stood, and personally filled the empty cup in front of Kanemaru.
The liquid was clear. It reflected both men's faces, each hiding his own calculations.
"Mr. Kanemaru, the Saionji Family is in business. Businessmen value harmony and mutual prosperity above all."
"In the hands of a fool like Ezaki, these things are bombs. But in your hands…"
Shuichi lowered his voice.
"…they are the Saionji Family's sincerity to a friend."
Kanemaru stared at the sake cup, then at the open briefcases.
After a long moment, he exhaled a turbid breath. He seemed to age ten years in that instant, yet also seemed to shrug off a thousand-pound weight.
He understood. This was a transaction.
The Saionji Family hadn't just disposed of a corpse for him. They were demonstrating power. To extract these documents intact from under the Special Investigation Department's nose at this critical juncture — that level of capability was far beyond an ordinary businessman.
This was no longer the Old Kazoku he could toy with.
This was an ally he had to treat as an equal. Perhaps even court.
"Shuichi-kun."
Kanemaru finally picked up his lighter. Snap. He lit the cigar.
Blue smoke rose, blurring his expression.
"This gift of yours is too heavy."
He waved a hand.
Ozawa immediately closed the lids, locked them, and moved the briefcases behind him.
"Since it's from a friend, I'll accept it."
Kanemaru's voice regained its usual authority.
"I'm not a man who likes owing favors."
He looked at Shuichi through the smoke.
"There are several plots in Odaiba. Right now they're just barren reclaimed land, but I hear the Ministry of Construction is re-evaluating the floor-area ratio for the Waterfront Subcenter."
"This afternoon, the new planning approval documents will be on your desk."
"Furthermore…"
Kanemaru paused, his tone turning meaningful.
"Regarding the 'Special Textile Duty-Free Import Quota' that S-Collection wishes to apply for — MITI will handle it as a special case."
Shuichi bowed slightly and raised his sake cup.
"Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Kanemaru."
"Mutual consideration," Kanemaru said, raising his own cup and clinking it lightly against Shuichi's. "In this world, it's not easy to find a friend who knows the rules and works efficiently."
The crisp clink echoed in the depths of the courtyard.
The shishi-odoshi fell again.
Thud.
The deal was done.
---
3:00 PM.
Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo. Imperial Hotel, Peacock Room.
Massive crystal chandeliers lit the banquet hall — large enough for a thousand people — as bright as noon.
Hundreds of reporters crowded below the stage. Cameras were already mounted. Flashes strobed frantically.
On the podium, a backdrop displayed a new line of text:
****
Shuichi stood before the microphone.
He'd changed into a dark gray double-breasted suit. The pocket square in his breast pocket was folded with precision. To his left sat President Ezaki, ashen-faced and forcing a smile.
This once-arrogant "Information King" now looked like a puppet with its strings cut, nodding mechanically at the cameras.
"Friends from the media."
Shuichi's voice carried through the hall, steady, powerful, convincing.
"The recent rumors surrounding Apex Group have caused great distress across society. As an enterprise with a hundred-year history, the Saionji Family has always believed that corporate social responsibility weighs as heavy as Mount Tai."
He turned slightly and gestured to Ezaki beside him.
"We will set aside the numerous cases involving Apex Group for now. But it holds the job-seeking data of millions of citizens. This is the nation's wealth. It is the citizens' privacy. We cannot allow this data to be displaced — or exploited by those with ulterior motives — due to management failure."
"Therefore, Saionji Industries has decided to acquire the data and real estate divisions under Apex Group."
A commotion rippled through the crowd.
Reporters whispered. Pens flew across notebooks.
"I ask that you not view this as merely a commercial acquisition."
Shuichi raised his voice. His expression turned solemn, righteous.
"This is to protect our citizens' information security. To save a company on the brink of bankruptcy. To preserve the livelihoods of two thousand employees."
"From today, we will conduct a thorough cleaning and restructuring of the original management team."
When he said "cleaning," Ezaki visibly flinched beside him.
"The name APEX will become history."
Shuichi's voice filled the banquet hall.
He bowed slightly toward the sea of lenses, his expression serious and sincere — an architect vowing to rebuild from ruins.
"To sever the shadow of the past and provide an explanation to the nation, Saionji Industries is urgently preparing a brand-new technology company. It will fully take over the data and real estate operations of the former Apex and conduct a thorough purification of the original management system."
Shuichi paused, his gaze sweeping the room.
"Although registration and listing for the new company are still underway, I can guarantee everyone here —"
He raised his head and looked straight into the storm of flashbulbs.
"The future new company will have a brand-new structure, the strictest privacy regulations, and…"
"An absolutely clean future."
Thunderous applause erupted.
The flashes merged into a sea of light, nearly drowning the two men on stage.
No one knew about the dirty deals behind it. No one knew about the ledgers that had been burned. To the public and the media, this was a perfect "white knight" rescue — a righteous act by an Old Kazoku family for the sake of social stability, heedless of cost.
---
At the same time, Bunkyo Ward, Saionji Main Family Residence.
In the living room, the television volume was low.
Satsuki was curled on a soft sofa, holding a cup of warm black tea. She'd changed out of her uniform into loose loungewear, a wool blanket over her knees.
On screen, her father shook President Ezaki's hand with a righteous expression, accepting the crowd's cheers. Scrolling subtitles ran along the bottom:
"Saionji Family Steps In to Save the Market!"
"APEX Renamed! National Privacy Receives Concrete Protection!"
Satsuki watched her father's face, tall and composed under the spotlights. The corner of her mouth curved into a faint, playful smile.
"What a great performance, Father."
She said it softly, taking a sip of tea.
"As expected, the biggest lies are always told in the most righteous language."
She picked up the remote and pressed power.
The screen went black, cutting off the grand farce.
"Alright."
Satsuki set down her teacup, stood, and walked barefoot to the window.
The rain had stopped outside. The dark clouds had parted, revealing a corner of deep blue sky.
"The stage is set. Now it's time for that 'genius' to take the stage."
---
Evening, 6:00 PM.
Kasumigaseki, Special Investigation Department, Tokyo District Public Prosecutors Office.
Dozens of black official cars roared out, sirens painting piercing red streaks through the twilight.
The prosecutors' faces were grim. They clutched search warrants that had just been issued. They knew exactly why those warrants had suddenly become hard to get. When the Takeshita Faction was fracturing internally, the Special Investigation Department had made rapid progress. Now that the infighting had stopped, all that mysterious "assistance" had vanished.
They were a step behind. Public opinion had shifted. But they still had to investigate.
If they didn't turn over every stone, what would become of the Special Investigation Department's reputation?
"Move! Target: Shinbashi, former APEX headquarters!"
"We must secure the finance office and the server room before they destroy evidence!"
The convoy snaked through evening traffic like a black serpent, charging toward Shinbashi with murderous intent.
Twenty minutes later.
Bang!
The main doors of APEX headquarters — now bearing the temporary sign "Saionji Information System" — were thrown open.
Dozens of investigators in deep blue trench coats stormed inside.
"Nobody move! Special Investigation Department search!"
But what greeted them wasn't panic or fleeing employees.
The lobby was quiet.
A few security guards in Saionji Industries uniforms were calmly wiping the marble floor. When they saw the prosecutors rush in, they didn't even look surprised. They just bowed politely.
"Where is the finance office? The server room?"
The lead prosecutor shouted.
"This way, please."
A man who looked like a manager smiled and led them.
The investigators rushed into the finance office on the top floor.
It was empty.
The safe stood open. Not even a mouse inside. Every filing cabinet had been emptied, leaving only brand-new Saionji Information System ledgers, still smelling of fresh ink.
"Damn it! To the server room! The data must still be there!"
The group thundered down to the second basement level.
The server room doors were open.
Under eerie blue light, rows of massive IBM mainframes and Cray supercomputers were running, humming low.
But at the main console, there was only one young man.
Shimomura Tsutomu.
He wore that gray hoodie, slippers on his feet, sitting cross-legged in an ergonomic chair, chewing gum. He blew a bubble — pop.
Seeing the crowd burst in, he pulled off his headphones and blinked, dazed.
"Who're you looking for?"
"Move!"
A prosecutor shoved him aside and lunged at the console, shouting at the technical expert they'd brought: "Search! Pull up everything! Last year's transfer records and customer lists!"
The tech expert's fingers flew across the keyboard, sweat pouring down his face.
Lines of green code jumped on the screen.
One minute.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
The tech's face got paler until he finally dropped his hands.
"There's nothing…"
"What do you mean, nothing?!"
"There's nothing at all…" The tech turned. "The system's been reset. The underlying architecture's been changed. The current database… only has Saionji employee attendance records entered today."
"What about the previous data? The backups?!" The prosecutor grabbed Shimomura by the collar and roared.
Shimomura spread his hands innocently. The gum popped again.
"I'm the CTO. Started today. This system also went live today."
He pointed at the still-blinking lights.
"The boss said the old system was garbage — full of holes, privacy risk — so he had me format everything. As for what was here before…"
Shimomura shrugged. 'I'm a tech guy. I don't do politics.'
"When I took over, the place was empty. Probably… deleted by hackers?"
"You—!"
The prosecutor shook with rage. He ripped off his hat and slammed it onto the anti-static floor.
"Bastards! This bunch of cunning foxes!"
He looked at the silent machines and knew.
He'd lost.
Completely.
The evidence chain was broken.
No ledgers. No data. No originals. Even knowing something was wrong, he could only watch them dance on the edge of the law.
---
At the same moment.
Nagatacho, the backyard of an inconspicuous private residence.
Night had fallen deep.
A small private incinerator burned fiercely.
Orange-red firelight reflected on Kanemaru Shin's aged face.
He stood by the furnace, holding an iron hook, gently poking at the ashes.
Those stock transfer documents filled with big names, those secret ledgers that could topple the cabinet — they were now curling and blackening in the heat, turning to blue smoke and vanishing into Tokyo's murky night.
Whew—
A night wind blew, swirling up blackened paper ash like a swarm of dark butterflies dancing in the firelight.
Kanemaru watched the flying ashes, expressionless.
"It's clean now."
He tossed the iron hook aside and brushed dust from his hands.
In the distance, the spire of the National Diet Building loomed in the night — still majestic, still silent.
As if nothing had ever happened here.